Perfect. Her subconscious is already craving the submission I need from her. Now I just have to make those dreams real while disguising it as academic training. My cock throbs at the thought of her eager obedience, of teaching her to beg for my approval.
"Interesting," I murmur, moving to the workbench where I've arranged today's lesson materials. "Dreams often show us our deepest needs, especially when your body's changing like yours is. Your mind is probably responding to the power stuff that's part of fertility magic."
She blinks, trying to process my explanation. "Power stuff?"
"In nature, successful breeding often has clear roles," I explain, pulling out plant specimens that will help show her what I mean. "Dominant and submissive roles that make sure both parties get what they need."
Maya's scientific mind grabs onto the concept immediately, just like I knew it would. "Like the relationship between flowering plants and their pollinators?"
"Exactly." I set out examples of flowers that need specific behaviors from their pollinators—orchids that trap insects until they've been properly fertilized, vines that reward good behavior with nectar. "The plant provides structure, guidance, rewards for doing things right. The pollinator finds satisfaction in playing its role perfectly."
"It works together," she says, studying the specimens with obvious fascination. "Each party gets what they need by accepting what they're supposed to do."
"Right. And in magical fertility work, similar dynamics create the strongest results." I move behind her, close enough that she'll feel the heat of my body while she examines the plants. My shaft hardens further at her proximity, at the sweet scent of her growing need. "The dominant partner gives guidance and protection. The submissive partner finds happiness through service and surrender."
She shivers at how close I am, her scent spiking with arousal she probably doesn't even recognize. "And in our work, I would be..."
"The submissive partner," I say softly, letting my breath warm her ear. The words make my prehensile cock twitch with anticipation. "Your job would be to trust my guidance completely, to follow orders without question, to find satisfaction in making me happy rather than worrying about your own agenda."
"But I thought we were partners in this research," she says, though her voice carries more curiosity than protest.
"We are partners," I assure her, my hands settling lightly on her shoulders. "But effective partnerships require clear roles. You excel when given structure, Maya. You flourish under guidance from someone who values your contributions."
It's true, and we both know it. Her entire academic career has been spent craving exactly this kind of focused attention and clear expectations.
"What would that look like practically?" she asks, leaning back against my chest without seeming to realize she's done it.
"Small things at first. Anticipating my needs during our sessions. Preparing materials the way I prefer them arranged. Following my instructions precisely rather than second-guessing them." I let my hands stroke gently along her arms, reinforcing positive associations with submission. "As your comfort with the role grows, the responsibilities would become more personal."
"Personal how?"
"Caring for my workspace. Ensuring my comfort during long research sessions. Learning to read my needs before I voice them." Each suggestion is perfectly reasonable while establishing the foundation for much deeper submission. "Eventually, your satisfaction would come primarily from my approval rather than external validation."
Maya's breath catches at the implications. "That sounds..."
"Overwhelming?" I suggest when she doesn't finish.
"Perfect," she whispers, and the honesty in her voice makes something clench in my chest.
This broken little omega, so desperate to matter to someone, so grateful for any scrap of genuine attention—she's practically begging me to own her completely.
"Let's start with something simple," I say, moving to the other side of the workbench. "I'm going to guide you through preparing today's magical samples. Your job is to follow my instructions exactly, without questioning or modifying them. Can you do that?"
"Yes." The answer comes immediately, eagerly, confirming what I already suspected about her psychological needs.
For the next hour, I walk Maya through increasingly detailed tasks while she hangs on every word. When I tell her to arrange specimens in specific patterns, she complies perfectly. When I adjust her hand positions to channel magic more effectively, she melts under my guidance. When I praise her precision and obedience, she glows with satisfaction that's clearly more important to her than the research itself.
"Beautifully done," I tell her when she completes the final arrangement exactly as instructed. "You're a natural at following guidance, Maya. It suits you."
She flushes with pleasure, dark eyes bright with the kind of happiness I've never seen from academic achievements. "It feels good to know exactly what you want from me. To be able to give you what you need."
"That's the essence of healthy submission," I explain, moving closer to reinforce the lesson with physical proximity. "Finding deep satisfaction in service, in being useful, in earning approval through perfect obedience."
"Is that what's been missing from my life?" she asks softly. "Clear structure? Someone who values what I can offer?"
The vulnerability in her question hits harder than it should. She's been starved for exactly this kind of focused attention, this sense of being precious and necessary to someone powerful.
"Among other things," I say carefully. "Your previous environments never appreciated your natural gifts. They tried to force you into roles that don't suit your psychology."
